


Last Resort

by DahliaDear



Series: Trini's canon [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: A lot of feels, Depression, Healing, Multi, PTSD, Post Trespasser, Solavellan, There will be graphic violence, a lot of fade, ancient elfy shite, buckle up kids it's gonna be a bumpy ride, but most importantly, loss of limb trauma, solas redemption, the relationship also isn't exactly healthy but will be entirely consensual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-11-30 22:44:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11473197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DahliaDear/pseuds/DahliaDear
Summary: Life in the Inquisition was not what it used to be, but Trini Lavellan was dedicated to her objective of maintaining order. "Struggle is an illusion," The Iron Bull had once told her, "the tide rises and the tide falls, but the sea is changeless." It had been Qun propaganda of course, but she clung to it like a lifeline. The only thing left to work for was progress, and the next stop was Tevinter.New chapter updates within two weeks.





	1. Beginning Again

_She knelt at his feet, exposed, prostrate, powerless._

_“Var lath vir suledin,” was her choked plea. Desperate to reach him; but he was so far away… so cold._

_“I wish it could, vhenan.” Why did he have to go where she could not reach? The tales were supposed to have happy endings._

_One last kiss, his mouth sweet poison. She should be angry; he was a traitor. But he hadn’t betrayed her and her heart could not condemn him for it._

_He pulled her arm into the Fade the same way he had taken her body and soul; with soft lips and steady hands. Why was she so weak that she could not grab him? Hold him still and demand his world? All this time, and he never followed orders._

_He released her before she was ready, a habit he was developing. Trying not to make her a habit. Well her habits were vices that he evaded with ease. Always one step ahead._

_“I will never forget you,” it was the worst kind of goodbye. There was no room for argument because he had taken her voice with all the rest. She was a shell as she watched him stride away, not looking back. Praying to no one that he would carry her too. After all, Fen’Harel was real, and he would ruin you if he caught your scent. Just as she was ruined. A lifetime of laughter and whispers, shared wisdom and curiosity, shed blood and healing hands, gentle kisses and warm embraces, packed into a year; borne for two more; walking through a sheet of glass that thwarted her. Solid enough to bar her influence, but fragile enough to destroy everything with it._

_Then, only once he had stolen her hope as well, he took his burden and was gone. And as the light went out in the Eluvian, so it also did in her life._

 

_—_

 

It had been a blighted year since then. Currently, Dagna was fussing over the great contraption strapped to her stunted arm, a progress of cogs and gears and clanking. This ‘prosthesis’ as she called it, had become something of a pet project for the dwarf, but Trini couldn’t complain because she had commissioned it.

“How does it feel, Inquisitor?”

She took a moment to stretch her arm, feeling the weight of it on her shoulder, which had been carefully calibrated to imitate a real hand and forearm. Because she still had her elbow joint, she was able to bend it and make some rudimentary twists. When she turned it palm upward and folded the elbow, the fingers also curled inward. It clicked and whirred slightly as she moved.

“Noisy,” she answered, “but the feel is good and it’s great progress. How are the compartments coming?”

“Slowly?” Dagna pointed out a hairline groove on the inside, which Trini slid a thumbnail into and popped open a little door. The space within was small, only a few inches square; enough for maybe a couple of extra bolts. “Every time I update the prototype I try to save as much space as possible, but it’s difficult to do without making the whole thing hollow. Then maybe I could add some padding to protect the contents? But then it gets heavier again so I start over. As for the noise I could make the gears out of a softer alloy but they’d wear out a lot faster and you’d have to replace them more often, which isn’t very efficient.”

“Wax coating?”

“Tried it. Gunks everything up.”

“Silence rune?”

There was a thick pause as a shadow passed over Dagna’s face and then she scrambled for her notebooks and coal.

“That’s _brilliant_ why did I never think of that it’s like I never went to the Circle at all! Just _imagine_ the runes I could put in this, I could make it do… all sorts of things!” the Dwarven woman was sketching furiously on a page, making occasional murmurs of affirmation or disapproval to herself as she went. “Roguey stuff. Misdirection? Poison laced—no, dangerous to the wearer. Extra protection. Elemental damage? Uh… Guided strike?”

The Inquisitor let her ramble on for a moment until her stream of consciousness ebbed naturally, and then cleared her throat. “Think about it and see what works. Have you done any designs for the bow?” If there was anything she hated about being one handed, it was that she couldn’t use a bow for range fighting anymore. She missed being able to trade off her with her daggers.

“Mock up!” She said excitedly, dropping her sketches again to grab what Trini had previously thought was a wooden log on the work table. Apparently, it was a rough carving of a new attachment. Dagna unstrapped the metal piece and began babbling as she went. “I also started working on a new system of straps so you can adjust them yourself—and maybe put on the prosthetic on your own. See here? I designed this buckle myself, the middle slides freely but it has teeth that grip the leather strap under tension.” She demonstrated as she went, showing off the harness that was permanently cinched in the middle, and two of these buckles on either end. Trini let Dagna push the base of the prosthesis onto what was left of her arm, then handed her one of the straps.

“Pull here to tighten this one,” the Elvhen woman tugged on it as she was told, and sure enough the teeth sank into the strap when it tried to free itself for slack. It stayed in place on her shoulder, “then the harness comes around your back—this might take some practice—and this strap comes around your other arm,” the loop was big enough that Trini could put her right hand through without too much awkwardness, “and tighten this one the same way.” She tugged.

“So, uh…” Trini said, rolling her shoulders in the harness, “what am I supposed to do with this end?” She held the free length of strap in her hand still.

“Oh, nug!” The Dwarf looked at her for a second as if she had just pointed out the sky was blue all along. “Uh, loops! I’ll sew on loops that you can tuck them into! And then they’ll just hide under your clothes!”

She chuckled for a second, “It’s okay Dagna, just making suggestions. It feels really good, I like this system. Why did you put it on this one instead of the prototype?”

“Just inventing stuff. I’m trying to figure out if I can do something in particular but I’m not sure yet so after the trials and errors I’ll put together everything that works! Anyway Sera helped me make this one, I don’t really know bows all that well… She helped me balance it but in the end what matters is that it works for you, I guess. You’re the one missing an arm, after all!”

Trini lifted it and looked it over. It really was roughly-hewn; there was no hinge in it at all. At the end of the block of wood that was measured to match the length of her own arm, it tapered into a crude fist, out of either end of which sprung the arms of a bow, already strung.

“I know! It’s awkward!” Dagna blurted preemptively, “But I’m working on how to make it compact! I have some designs that will make the arms fold down and latch, maybe a crank that wraps the string, keeps it protected and oiled; spring loaded! Push the button, BAM! Instant bow! Full size of course, I know you specifically said no crossbows.”

“Your ideas are fantastic as always,” the Inquisitor assured her, “let’s just see what actually works, okay? But I’ll admit, that sounds a lot more pleasant than wearing this whole thing around.” She raised it experimentally, drawing the string. The tension was very good and the wood gave just right. “This one is brilliant,” she sighed wistfully, “Sera gave you very good advice about the bow, I wish it was ready to use!”

Dagna giggled, colouring slightly, “Well she mostly tried to distract me, but she eventually helped! Do you think you can get it off by yourself too?”

Trini grasped at the buckle on her right shoulder, pinching the serrated bracket and the strap sprung free, sliding out with little convincing. The trickier part was pulling her arm out without getting tangled up. However, once she managed it, she was able to release the strap on her other arm as well, and pull the prosthesis off.

“Practice,” she sighed, “it will take some practice, but the concept is genius, Dagna. I will much prefer this over needing a servant with me at all times—or the hand I have now.”

The dwarven woman made a face as she picked up the offensive piece in question. It was a very plain forearm of hollow metal—who knew what sort—moulded into a solid hand which hung at her side. Honestly, Trini wouldn’t have minded keeping her sleeve buttoned below the amputation, but her advisors had suggested, making the ‘ _right impression.’_ Whatever that meant. She gave her arm to the Inquisition, wasn’t that enough? A reminder that she had used the mark to save them all and in the end she’d had to sacrifice more. Well it would have killed her, either way.

Dagna helped her get the cumbersome thing back on, and then into her shirt. The Inquisitor wasn’t shy about her body in the slightest, it was only her pride that stung from needing help. Anyway she would rather a friend do it than a servant.

“Thanks Dags,” she offered when the final button was in place. “I look forward to our next check in and seeing what you’ve come up with.”

“No, thank _you_ , Inquisitor! I really like working on prosthetics, this is really interesting! Next time you’re here, hopefully I’ll figure out how to use the runes!”

Trini chuckled as she left, her fingers squeezing her metal wrist tightly.

 

———

 

The next two weeks were much the same. The Inquisition, it seemed, had been relegated to a decorative bauble, with little in the way of real obligation. Letters poured in of course, but Trini took little pleasure in any of them. Once she had reveled in a well written word that would curry a favor she needed, but that was long past. The only notes that held any merit for her were the ones that flew on midnight wing to the messenger roost. But eventually Leliana’s delegate ordered her out as well, with the promise that she would hear any pertinent information immediately. The only problem was, it seemed none of it ever would be.

Instead, she focused on what progress could be made, thought it was mostly personal. Some necessary things, like practicing her own hygiene and toiled now that she only had five articulated fingers. She found that sometimes she could hold the end of something in her teeth, such as a belt or a leather thong she was tying. The rest was resolved with the help of her arcanist’s clever inventions.

“No, that’s no good, Inky! If someone comes up on you, you’re shishkebab!” Sera was scolding her over her performance with the bow prosthesis; much to her frustration.

“I’m not trying to be fast with it, Sera, that’s not the point. I know _you_ like to have your bow in hand at all times and just because my bow _is_ my hand now, that’s not what it’s for. I simply use archery to keep me at range, either from someone I don’t want to get within arm’s reach of, or if I’m hunting.”

“Yeah, and that’s no _fun_ innit, _”_ her friend retorted, “You oughta _enjoy_ taking out the baddies up close, so they know why they got it comin’. Look ‘em in the eye and give ‘em the two finger salute.”

Trini snorted at Sera’s colourful-as-ever repartee, once again dismantling the bow. Dagna’s latest prototype worked exactly how the dwarf had described it—for the most part. Although still somewhat bulky and awkward, she had gotten the prosthesis to a stage where the Inquisitor could start taking it out and practicing. However, it seemed she was not doing so to her archer companion’s satisfaction. The arms of the bow folded onto the forearm of the prosthesis, making a compacted W shape. When opened, the joints locked into place to prevent collapsing, and each one had to be unlocked like a folding blade. The arms then caught in a catch-and-release system, so the string could be cranked around a lubricated coil inside the elbow. This was what she took so long doing now, and what she was being scolded for.

“Look chances are, if I’m folding the bow away, the enemy is dead _anyway_ , Sera. I’ll just make sure no one sneaks up on me.”

“ _Fine._ But I told Widdle to make it fast so if you’re slow it’s _your_ fault _._ Not hers. Now try shooting again.”

And so she did. When Trini pressed the coil, it instantly unwound the bow string and flung the arms open, letting them lock into place. The tension on this bow was a little interesting, considering that the original had been made of wood and worked perfectly, but Dagna seemed to have tried recreating it using some sort of flexible metal. The aim was just as different, if only because now she needed to compensate for the bow being inside her wrist instead of her fist, being slightly closer to her arm than normal, and other similar changes.

When she was out of arrows, Sera bellowed for the range to clear so she could tromp down to yank them back out of the target, even though no one else was down range. It seemed it would take a bit more practice before she was quite the markswoman she used to be.

Trini fidgeted with the straps of her prosthesis for a moment, before her friend returned and helped her the rest of the way out of it. She was suddenly very aware of how visible she was in the courtyard, exposed to anyone who happened to pass by. The Herald of Andraste, they would say with disdain, whose mark had been taken from her. Without the anchor, what was she to them anymore? A fraud. With nothing to set her apart from anyone else.

"Stop that," Sera muttered, drawing her back to the present as she strapped on the Inquisitor's ornamental arm.

"What?"

"You're thinking too much. Your ears go all elfy."

Sure enough, she twitched one in confusion and realised they had been flattened against her skull with anxiety. She shook her head, making them relax. Sera had never developed the muscles required to express herself through ear movement, having been raised by humans, she remembered. It had taken Trini a lot of practice to break herself of the habit to avoid unsettling the humans she interacted with. A habit which apparently sprung back to the forefront the moment she wasn't paying attention. She sighed and managed to fasten her tunic herself—Dagna had replaced her buttons with a hook-and-eye system she could work one-handed.

"Whatever," Sera said uncomfortably. "I'll take this arm back to Widdle, you go do what you need to do."

"Thanks Sera," Trini murmured. It was nice to know her friends still cared about her enough to help.

 

———

 

 

_Trini looked up to the sound of laughter and music in the distance. A smile tugged at her lips, and she stepped toward it, feeling the atmosphere of celebration lifting her spirits. She had been gathering wildflowers which spilled out of her hands now and she stopped for a moment, having forgotten what she was doing. Crystal Grace—someone was getting married. Counting the blooms, she made sure she had enough and then hurried back to the clan._

_The others were swaying happily around the fire, and the sight made her hum along under her breath, feeling her heart soar on such a happy occasion. It wasn’t often that two young people got married in Lavellan, she remembered; lately it seemed like they were all going away to marry into other clans. She hurried into the wedding tent with her burden and the ladies all helped each other get dressed. Trini was to be a handmaiden today, trading her hunter’s scout armor for a robe of greens and purples and a wreath of Crystal Grace. They all exchanged veiled smiles and suppressed giggles as they worked, preparing for the ceremony._

_It was a beautiful sight, one that she was witnessing for the first time since she was old enough to remember properly. Nothing made her feel quite as free as dancing barefoot in the grass, wearing streaming ribbons and strong sweet flowers, while the males tied bells to their ankles and wrists and they pretended to woo each other. Her laughter and singing filled the air, lost in the chorus of everyone else’s, before her best friend met her groom and stood before the Keeper to be joined. Pride wasn’t nearly a strong enough word to describe what she felt, as she looked on at the bride. They had grown up together, shared everything together, fought over boys together, and learned to hunt together. Now she was getting married and ready to start a family of her own. But dread took over as she watched the ceremony complete and the woman wandered away from the Keeper to spend the night with her new husband; why couldn’t Trini remember her name…?_

_“It will be your turn soon,” Deshanna said from behind her._

_Trini turned around, her head spinning slightly. Her heart ached for some reason at the sight of the Keeper._

_“Sorry, Hahren?”_

_“You should get married soon, Endrinisia. You’re getting on in age and then it will be too late for you to have children of your own. Look how much joy a wedding brings to the clan. And every child a woman bears is another Elvhen to keep the People alive.”_

_“I’ve already made my vows, Keeper,” she answered. It felt so true that she had said it without hesitating, but as she tried to recall the face she was thinking of, she only got flashes. Impressions. Strong slender fingers around a staff, a jawbone necklace, an unquenchable longing in her soul. She shook herself clear of it, “I can’t promise myself to another now, Deshanna. It’s too late.”_

_“Foolish girl!” The Keeper snapped, “He isn’t going to return to you! The Inquisition is over with, and your duty is to proliferate the people! Your body is still strong, but you don’t have much time left. You could still take a husband and reproduce!”_

_At the mention of the Inquisition, all of Trini’s illusions shattered. Her left arm dissipated with a crackle of green electricity, the camp in the distance faded into nothingness. That’s right; her clan was dead. All of them slain by bandits; and Solas had left her as well._

_“There is no future for the children of the Dalish,” she hissed without mercy, “There is only death and poverty here. One woman’s children, five women’s children will not stop you from being aimless vagabonds, clinging to delusions and misconceptions!” Every sorrow she had ever had for losing her clan, for the things which Solas had shown her the People had lost, poured out of her in the words she had told herself in order to move on, now aimed at whoever the Keeper was supposed to represent in her subconscious mind. The past? “I made my vows to be faithful to the man I love and Dread Wolf take me if I bear another man’s child!”_

_Deshanna slapped her._

_When she looked up, the Keeper was gone and she was surrounded by ethereal forest. The fade, she sighed, she was in the fade. This was a dream. That made this whole experience make a little more sense. Something glittered in the distance, moving away in the trees, and Trini strained to catch sight of it. A wolf. She had already taken a step toward it when it picked up its pace and she stumbled forward, falling into a run as it slipped away._

_Twigs snapped beneath her toes, branches striped her face and shoulders, but she ignored them, racing through the trees and undergrowth for a glimpse of fur, the swish of a tail. ‘Dread Wolf take me’ was her constant mantra, but Solas was Fen’Harel and he was beyond her reach._

_This wolf was her subconscious manifesting itself, she thought, chasing it relentlessly. This was a symbol for her fear of losing Solas. She chased the wolf through the forest like she chased the man across Thedas. But none of those thoughts changed how badly it hurt to watch him flee, to know she couldn’t catch up as he gained even more distance. ‘Don’t leave me,’ she wanted to cry, but there was no breath left in her lungs. ‘How could you?’_

_Her legs finally gave out and she stumbled, falling into an uncontrolled somersault and sprawling out in the dirt. Trini tried to sit up but every inch of her burned, and it hurt to take a breath. She looked around, heard nothing but silence, realised she didn’t recognise an inch of the forest she was in. The wolf was gone. A chill crept into her bones and she choked on the air. It’s only a dream she told herself, shivering in the night, it’s only a dream._


	2. Nuvenal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This accidentally took longer than expected; my conference in the States got a little out of hand. I thought I'd be able to keep working on it over my trip but that didn't end up happening. Sorry about that! Updates will continue every two weeks! Small caveat: I am moving to Switzerland by the end of Sept so that may also delay some updates but that's not for another month! Regular updates until then!

“So, is it working?” Trini stepped up to Dagna’s work table which threatened to cause an avalanche of gadgets. Vellum littered the floor covered in blurred coal sketches, and lyrium powder clung to the very grain of the wood.

“Hmm, I think so.” The arcanist turned the prosthesis over in her hands, studying it closely, and when she was satisfied she flipped her magnifying spectacles over onto her head. “Why don’t you try this?”

The Inquisitor slipped out of her tunic and found a not-dangerous surface to sit on while she traded arms with Dagna. It felt strange for a moment, like a tingling or a buzzing or both, and the rune carved into the metal flickered into life.

“You made another prototype, just to try out a silence rune?” She asked, twisting the hinges in every direction she could think of, even manually bending each of the fingers inward, one at a time. She couldn’t seem to hear any of the usual mechanical sounds, but she could definitely feel it clicking through her shoulder.

“Yeah, I didn’t know if this was going to work. I wanted to save the good ones, so in case something doesn’t work, I can go back to working on the one that does work,” Dagna answered. “Anyway, what do you think?”

She was still fidgeting with all of the joints, trying to decide if she could actually hear anything. Enchanted objects seemed to play tricks on her not-magically inclined senses, and she wasn’t sure if her mind was supplying what she was supposed to be hearing, but wasn’t actually reaching her ears.

“I gotta admit,” Trini finally said, “I don’t _think_ I can hear anything.”

“Trick question,” Dagna appeared, cheerfully wielding a hammer she had wrapped with leather scraps. “It works,” she said and slammed it against the prosthesis.

The Inquisitor shouted as she leapt away from her perch and gritted her teeth against the reverberation that traveled up her shoulder at the impact. It had definitely been awhile since she had taken a blow to that side—and she wasn’t a warrior so she tended to avoid those kinds of strikes in the first place. But sure enough, there was no metallic ringing that followed.

“ _Creators_ , Dagna, warn me next time, will you?” She shuffled a bit further away just to be sure, and lifted the arm, inspecting it for scuffs, but it was thankfully undamaged. “You’re right though; no sound at all.” She caught the Dwarf staring with an expression similar to the one she had worn the day she found out some of them had gone through the fade at Adamant. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Will you, uh, walk to the other side of the room for me?”

Trini looked at her sideways but obeyed, then returned again at the arcanist's behest. Her expression was just as intent, if not more so.

“What is it!?”

“I can’t hear your footsteps!”

  
———

  
The discovery had been a shock to both of them. At first, Dagna thought she must have done something different with the rune, otherwise why wouldn’t all fighters wear silence runes at all times? After her usual constant stream of babbling, however, the woman came to the conclusion that the phenomenon must be restricted to artificial limbs. Trini asked her why her speech was still audible then, but not even the Dwarf could answer that one. It would take a lot of study, she said. Well, why not? It’s not like the Inquisition had anything better to do.

Trini wasn’t sure how long they had spent with their heads bent over old textbooks and runes. She had only a few hours of sleep each day, dozing with her head on her arms at the work table, and to make matters worse, she was pretty sure she was accidentally inhaling lyrium dust. She had no idea how in the world Dagna managed it; but it kept the dreams away at least, and she felt like she was doing something productive.

She finally stumbled out onto the battlements while the sun was setting, though she squinted at it deliriously. Her sense of time had been wrecked by such a sporadic work schedule, and she struggled to convince herself to stay awake until it was a decent hour to sleep at. She was well trained to not rest for very long, and she did worry that she would wake in the middle of the night and then be damned for the rest of the week.

“Inquisitor.”

She looked up to see Cullen leaving his office, if possible looking even worse than she felt. Smiling, she turned away from the wall she leaned against to face him as he joined her.

“Long day, Commander?”

He sighed, looking at the sunset beside her. “You know as well as I do that there isn’t much left for the Inquisition to do,” he said. “All our troops are good for these days are pompous parades, lending our colours to showy processions, and brokering peace. It is… rather difficult to witness, after all we have fought for. Knowing that in the end, the people we saved from Corypheus’ machinations decided they should have control of us. Our orders to cut forces have gone through. All that remain are those who had nowhere to return to.”

Yes, she knew his struggle. It seemed most of them were feeling it these days. It made her question her decision to fight the Exalted Council and maintain the Inquisition, but the idea of disbanding felt wrong. The Inquisition had brought so many people together, created jobs and homes, provided resources for refugees of all sorts; what would they do without it?

“What about you? Surely you could retire by now, doesn’t your family miss you?”

He shook his head dismissively. “My place is here. Enough. There was a reason I approached you.” He looked at her very seriously and she almost got nervous. “I was hoping you’d go for a drink with me.”

She laughed, her worry dissipating. “Commander!” she gasped playfully, feigning shock. “Are you suggesting abandoning your duties for some revelry?”

He smiled ruefully at her joking. “My duties can rest for the night, as can yours. Will you accompany me?”

Trini nodded, slipping her arm into his with a smile. This was nice. It felt like the early days, when she had first started to meet everyone and could be free with her affections.

“I am at your disposal, Ser Rutherford,” she told him as they began their stroll toward the tavern, “I look forward to keeping your company.”

The inside of the establishment was a welcome distraction, though it did give her pause to wonder if she should be drinking in her current state of exhaustion. Why not, she decided; she longed for a temporary escape.

She let him order the first round of drinks and pick out a table, surprised when he lead her to the quiet top floor instead of staying in the main room. Normally this area was used for private meetings or when business must be attended to over drinks—but surely this was not business. Curious, she watched him over the rim of her mug and waited him out.

“I am not a very public person,” he eventually admitted. “I figured it would be easier to really relax away from prying eyes.”

“Really, Commander?” she teased, “I took you for someone who _lived_ for ceremony.” He rewarded her by shuddering at the idea. Privately, she didn’t mind the seating arrangements as she faced an inner conflict. Although the tavern reminded her of easier times, the memories were also an acute reminder of her loss. How many of her friends had left the Inquisition already? More than she cared to think about. It almost felt like betrayal to enjoy herself in the presence of those memories, without everyone to join a round of Wicked Grace or share a drunken story.

“May I make a request?” he asked suddenly, rubbing his neck. She tilted her head at the familiar nervous gesture, but inclined it in answer. “No more titles, please? Tonight I just want to be a man having a few drinks with a beautiful woman.”

Trini hesitated, barely noticing his uncommon attempt to initiate flirting. Titles were an anchor in her life; they reminded her when to be professional, when to be diplomatic, who to defer to and who to oppose. Even when intoxicated, being called Inquisitor or having to address an adviser reminded her to behave herself. Cullen wasn’t one of her companions who journeyed with her tirelessly, although they had fought together in battle. He wasn’t someone she had hired herself, and they had not spent weeks at a time sharing tents and bathing in rivers and pissing behind bushes together. No—he was a member of that part of the Inquisition she considered to have higher authority than herself, these advisers. He was her commander, whose counsel she respected and relied on, someone she must present a proper face to. And now he was asking her to put those things, and those duties, aside.

“Alright,” she said, leaning over the banister to wave her now empty mug at a passing barmaid below, as an excuse to not look at him. “Then, you may call me Trini… Cullen.”

The admission seemed to initiate a flow of awkward and barely successful small talk, although she did her best to humour him. Then it seemed as though the serving girl was never going to make it their way, so Trini tried to excuse herself.

“My ale’s gone dry, I’ll go get more—“

“That’s alright!” His chair scraped loudly against the floor as he leapt to his feet. “A-allow me.”

She lowered herself back into her seat, watching him closely as he darted down the stairs. Sure, he was normally a bit jumpy and awkward, but somehow he seemed even more so today. Maybe he just really needed this break.

“They’ve gotten busy,” he said when he returned, setting down an entire pitcher to her surprise. “The barmaid thrust this at me to pour my own drinks, so I paid for the whole thing to stay out of her way.” He refilled their mugs before sitting back down.

“Hey, I was supposed to pay for the next round! That’s hardly fair.”

“Well, you’re the one paying me, so… it’s your money anyway, I suppose?”

They laughed together for a moment, sipping slowly and then sitting in familiar silence. It felt like Trini would never escape the heaviness that followed her these days.

“Hey… thanks for inviting me out, Cullen,” she said, rubbing her fingers around the rim of her tankard. “It used to be very important to me to take time to myself and relax, but I probably haven’t done so very much since… since the Exalted Council.” She took a gulp of ale to hide her face at the slip.

“I know,” he sighed when she set her mug back down. “I’ve… been worried about you… Trini.” The way he dragged his hand across the stubble on his jaw did nothing to settle her uneasiness over his behaviour. He looked up at her then, wearing the same intense look from when he had asked her to drink with him. He rose and moved his chair adjacent to her, perched on the edge of it as he took her metal hand in his own. Alarm flared through her even before he spoke.

“You never speak of what happened on the other side of that Eluvian during the Exalted Council. That meeting with Solas could not have been easy for you, and you haven’t been the same since.”

“I told all there was to know,” she muttered, her throat closing around the words. He was her old god, she had told them, he made the Veil and now planned to tear it down. And he had taken the anchor; what more was there to say?

“Don’t. Don’t do that. I know you, Trini. You’re a strong woman—sometimes too strong.” _Oh. Oh, no. He wouldn’t_ … Apparently he would, because he reached across the table to hold her real hand, too. “You deserve better than how he treated you. I know you loved him very much, but he used that to his own ends and betrayed all of us.”

Her first reaction would have been to pull away, to tell him he didn’t know what he was talking about, to tell him to leave it be. But she had heard the words so many times, from so many others, she was numb to them now. She had even said them to herself once, not believing a grain of it. It was the words he would say next that she feared more.

“I have admired you for… a long time. I kept my distance because, well, we were at war and it was obvious that you were interested in someone else. Both of those things have ended now, and I just… just wanted you to know that I am here. For you.” His voice shook a little as his hands grasped hers tighter and she found herself unable to break his gaze. “I will wait, if you need time… but I think I could make you happy. You deserve to be happy, Trini.”

She had said similar words to Solas, once. She had told him that they both deserved happiness, and that she would take it wherever she could find it, in each moment. In truth, the words had been carefully calculated to assuage any fears he had over taking the relationship further, when in her heart she knew she was past the point of no return. Still, they had worked.

Now, as she looked into her Commander’s golden eyes and traced the lines of his nose and mouth with her gaze, she took the moment to reflect. She had never really put any thought into what came after this for her. Her life belonged to the Inquisition, to save the _shem_ leaders from themselves. But she had never asked herself if she would try to find love again. She was not an inexperienced woman—Solas was not her first lover—but he was the first man she ever loved. She recalled those early days when she had flirted freely with everyone—when each of them came to her separately to clarify her intentions. She had had to apologise to most of them because it had never been serious, and she had even taken a tumble with Iron Bull before she realised how serious she was about the mage. Now he had broken things off not once, but twice, and was the public enemy, besides.

She couldn’t deny Cullen was an attractive man, regardless of his race; and he seemed like he would be an attentive lover. Any woman would be lucky to have him.

When he leaned forward, she let him kiss her, a gentle, curious pressing of lips. He released her real hand to wrap his fingers around the back of her neck, and she gripped the seat of her chair nervously. For all her rationalising, it just didn’t feel right. He wasn’t the man she loved.

“I’m sorry,” she said, turning her head to break the kiss. It also protected her from seeing his flinch before he moved back out of her space.

“You’re a great man, Cullen,” she told the floor, “I sincerely hope you find love and happiness. Maker knows you deserve it—no, you do.” Trini stopped him from protesting, searching for her next words. “But this isn’t right. I love you, like a brother. Not—not like that.”

She watched him struggle with himself as he swallowed down her words. They must have been as hard for him to hear as they were for her to say; but the alternative was worse.

“No, forgive me,” he answered, “I had thought—I overstepped my bounds. It won’t happen again.”

She stood quickly, needing to get out of there.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, still unable to look at him, and fled.

———

  
Somehow she stumbled back into her quarters, the effects of the alcohol along with sleep deprivation and the influence of other… _substances_ … hitting her in full force now that she was standing again. Thankfully, whatever deity may or may not watch over her, had managed to make it a decent hour for sleep after that awkward encounter over a couple of ales.

Trini fell into bed, tugging half-heartedly at her bootlaces before kicking them off, trying to decide whether or not to bother stripping her clothes. Interpersonal drama always seemed so much more draining than saving the world; at least Corypheus and the rifts had been an enemy she could fight, unlike the flighted fancies of a person’s heart. Her head spun wildly.

In the end, it wasn’t worth the effort to get undressed. Instead, she lay there on top of her blankets, staring at the ceiling and mulling over her life choices. The Inquisitor spent so much time trying to avoid thinking about the state of things (mostly herself) that her stress followed her into the Fade and despite her hopes from earlier, she knew it would likely be the case tonight. She was so tired; tired of putting up a front for the others, tired of her own dreams, tired of the apparent futility of life. No matter what she did, there were always forces beyond her control. She almost missed the theological naïveté of blaming things on higher powers. Maybe there was a Maker up there, meddling with all of them.

Trini pulled her hand over her eyes, shoving her hair off her forehead and sighing deeply. She didn’t want to dwell on what she could have done differently; what was done was done, and there was no changing that now. Maybe she could have pursued someone else more seriously in the beginning and she wouldn’t have ended up where she was. But the fact stood that she was too deeply invested in Solas by the time the opportunity came. Bull had only been a passing fancy, and now he was involved with Dorian; and Josephine hadn’t seemed serious until Trini had had to turn her down. Maybe she could have been happy with the Ambassador—maybe they could have had a happy ending and a genuine love. Creators knew she never meant to hurt her, but she had already been dating the elven apostate by the time the conversation came around. Now shame and regret prevented her from even considering the possibility.

It was all a lot of maybes. In reality, Solas had quite effectively swept her away with a passion that promised to devour them whole. She had always known there was something holding him back, things he needed to do—but he knew her heart was his, and she knew his heart was hers, and she had chosen to hope that would win out instead of accepting the inevitable end. She knew that now, though she had pretended otherwise. She hadn’t realised it until Crestwood, or accepted it until he had revealed himself as Fen’Harel. It was eternity she wanted. Eternity with him.

The only place she could have that anymore, was in the Fade. Sometimes it went well, and sometimes the dream twisted itself into something she never wanted to experience. She wasn’t a Somniari, and she had never been able to control them they way Solas could, but he had taught her some lucid dreaming techniques—ways to remind herself she was in the Fade, to realise when something wasn’t real, or to remain in control of her own actions and shape events the way she wanted. She wondered if she could apply these things now, to experience some happiness in her sleep, even if she couldn’t in waking.

Trini settled in as comfortably as she could, curling into her sleeping position on Solas’ usual side of the bed, clutching the pillow he favoured. It was not a weakness she liked to reveal, but it certainly was her own. She tried to release the clutter of the day from her mind, conjuring everything she could remember about him: his smell, his voice, his chuckle, the texture of his clothes, the strength of his fingers, the shape of his ears, and the colour of his eyes. The image wavered, but she grasped it desperately, determined to find him as she dozed into sleep.

  
———

  
_“Trini?” There was no alarm in Solas’ voice, only confusion._

_“Surprised?” she asked him, smirking._

_“What are you doing?”_

_“I came to see you.”_

_“You should be sleeping, vhenan.” Her smirk slipped as she studied him. Why was he so out of focus? “I told you I would come to bed in a minute, there was no need to come after me.”_

_Come to bed? But he was—_

_“Mamae!”_

_Trini looked down to find their son clinging to her legs, and everything fell into place. She smiled and leaned over to pick him up._

_“Fenvir,” she chided, heaving him to sit on her protruding belly. “What are you doing awake?”_

_He giggled, puffing his chest out proudly, “Babae and I were doing men’s stuff.”_

_“Men’s stuff?” she demanded, eyeing her husband suspiciously. Solas had never been one to put much store in masculinity._

_He sighed in exasperation, “Well, the secret is out,” he said, tweaking Fenvir’s ear. “We were preparing for your name day tomorrow. Now if someone had **stayed in bed like she was told** —“_

_“The baby was kicking, I couldn’t get comfortable,” Trini groaned._

_“The baby?” her son asked, confused. “I’m not a baby. I didn’t kick you!”_

_Four years wasn’t too young to explain babies, she mused to herself._

_“No, you’re not a baby, vhenan’ain. But you used to be a baby, when Mamae and Babae first made you. Now we’re making another baby, so you can have a friend.” Personally, she would have had the second child much sooner so they would be closer in age, to prevent jealousy, but they could take things as they came._

_“A baby can be a friend?”_

_“Not for the first few years. They’re very fragile and they can’t talk so they cry a lot to make sure their mamaes and babaes give them what they need. You’ll be a big brother and need to help us take care of the little one. But when he or she is as big as you are now, I hope you can be friends.”_

_“Me too! I want it to be a friend! Will it be a boy or a girl friend?”_

_Trini chuckled, bouncing him to adjust his weight, “We don’t know yet. It will be a few months before the baby is done growing, and then we can guess on how big my belly is, but we won’t **really** be sure until the baby comes out.”_

_“The baby is in your belly!?” Flabbergasted, Fen leaned down to put his hand there and patted the swell of her womb._

_Tears sprung to her eyes inexplicably, as she processed the emotions coursing through her. This felt so right, she and Solas and their children together—she had to tighten her grip on the toddler to make sure he wouldn’t vanish. As if noticing her change in mood, he sat up again, wrapping his little arms around her neck and pushing his face into her hair._

_“The wolf wants a little girl,” he whispered, his voice rolling in pitch, becoming unrecognisable. “To call her Enadysia, ‘blessed with luck,’ after you. To match Fenvir, ‘path of the wolf.’” The fear that momentarily gripped her was erased by her longing, the ache in her womb that fuelled her tears. Not even the distant growling behind her could make her question it._

_“Nadia,” she breathed, making no struggle against the arms that elongated and held her like a vice, the words still purring into her ear._

_“He would dote on her, his little princess, and the four of you would be revered.”_

_Trini’s heart pounded in her chest, the form in her arms growing in length, entwining around her, holding her paralyzed in place. Solas was gone, her son was gone, and the baby was no longer in her womb. They had all been figments of her imagination._

_“All this could be yours, Endrinisia.” She only managed to answer with a sob, unable to break the spell that bound her. “Your husband, and your children.”_

_“Vhenan,” she whispered, embracing the demon._

_The growl become a vicious snarl, close enough to startle her into moving away from Desire. There was a flash of fur, so fast she only recognised it when it brushed against her, surging past. The demon shrieked—an awful, grating sound filled with pain, and everything went black._


End file.
